


all the better to eat you with, my dear

by leaveanote



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Good at Cunnilingus (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Halloween, Halloween Costumes, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), In Which Halloween Costumes Get Mildly Wrecked, Ineffable Halloween, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, for a bit, omg that's a tag i am USING IT, pussy eating, they're soft, very very light! just gentle consensual wrist binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote
Summary: It's their fifth Halloween in the cottage, and Crowley's got the perfect couple's costume picked out.Of course, Aziraphale knows what sort of treats his husband's really after, and he's more than happy to oblige.filthy little fill for gingerhaole's Halloween DTIYS!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 477
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	all the better to eat you with, my dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingerhaole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerhaole/gifts).



> written for [gingerhaole's Halloween DTIYS](https://gingerhaole.tumblr.com/post/629803532107825152/its-time-for-another-halloween-dtiys-redraw-this)! <3 check out the art (it makes more sense if you've seen it, and it's excellent) and show this incredible artist some love! gingerhaole, thank you for this lovely prompt, I've loved all the fanwork that's come out of it! and thank you, as always, for your loving, beautiful art!! I hope you enjoy!

“ And  _ ssstay  _ out!” It’s more hiss than growl, but quite effective nonetheless, as the night’s decidedly final batch of trick-or-treaters run from the cottage, shrieking in total and utter delight. Their candy-laden bags bump against their knees as Crowley chases them halfway down the lane on all fours, fluffy costume-tail bouncing behind him.

It’s something to do with monstrosity, if Aziraphale thinks about it. A reclamation by way of playing a part, as Crowley is prone to fancy, inhabiting a storybook version of villainy and making it something cheeky, something sweet and domestic. Something to which his husband can tell him, yes, dear, you are oh so very terrifying, and he can pretend to believe it while nuzzling into the angel’s cheek.

And that is a rather  _ wonderful  _ way of celebrating, in Aziraphale’s opinion.

The full moon gleams on the garden, which brims with autumn leaves gold enough to shine even in the lateness of the night. Aziraphale leans against the doorframe, the last of the cocoa cupped in his hands, his heart alit with love. Crowley bucks his head back at the sky he once filled with stars and gives a hearty, ridiculous howl at the moon. The children squeal, knocking treats out of each other’s bags as they scurry homeward. Aziraphale squints, ready to miracle them back, only to find his husband beats him to it. Crowley snaps again, and Aziraphale can sense the protective charm, ensuring the little trick-or-treaters make it home safe now that night’s set over the South Downs — not just these, but all the eager, be-costumed visitors they’ve had for the evening.

They’ve been the most popular house in the village for the past five Halloweens, since they’ve started truly celebrating the October after their first wedding anniversary. It began because Crowley thought it’d be fun to do the decor up right: massive skeletons draped over the roof, plastic ghouls that leap out of the rosebushes and terrify even the surliest teenagers into having a cheeky good night, tombstones with the most  _ evilly  _ dreadful puns ( _ “Helen Back”  _ and  _ “Gill O’Teen”  _ and others of his own invention that he presents to his long-suffering husband with glee). Of course, Aziraphale  _ officially _ pretends to reject the Satanic qualities of the holiday, more out of habit than anything. He likes the harvest season though, the hills gone all gold, the sweaters Crowley looks too lovely in, all the spectacular  _ pies  _ he brings home. And Aziraphale likes seeing children happy, so that’s easy enough to justify.

In the past few years, though, a never-ending candy supply and more general decor hasn’t done it, not when they’re getting so much attention. So Crowley’s gone in for  _ themes.  _ The first year was a human’s cartoonish idea of hell, all plastic light-up fires and pitchforks, which Crowley finds reassuringly campy. Next was a witch’s cottage—Crowley spent a good long while perfecting the actual gingerbread sconces and doing a very convincing Wicked-Witch-of-the-West look, black hat, green warts and all,  _ much  _ to Anathema’s offense. 

This year, he went with another fairytale. He coaxed the forest to grow into the yard for the night (multiple parents would comment on how real the bark felt), set out a pathway marked with waist-high actual gumdrops, draped cobwebs, sprinkled gleaming eyes among the branches—and talked his husband into their first ever couple’s costume. 

Aziraphale can’t help but go along with it, even now.

He’s a mess for his love as is, but he has  _ always  _ been particularly smitten for Crowley with children. Took him long enough to admit it, but oh, even the way Crowley’s gold eyes genuinely widened over Eve’s first was enough to sow the beginnings of doubt. How he’d reassure Noah’s children, in the aftermath of the drowned world. When he saved entire schoolrooms from the Blitz, still-scorched feet and all.

And then they’d gone and raised a not-the-Antichrist child  _ together,  _ and truly, it was only a matter of time before Aziraphale succumbed at last. Crowley’d quite pushed it with that awfully fetching hat. 

Aziraphale’s only a bit jealous of how  _ good  _ Crowley is with them. Last year he floated the idea of doing a magic show for some of the trick-or-treaters, and Crowley dissuaded him  _ terribly  _ gently, floating the scent of flung cake through the bedroom, enough to remind Azirapahle of that disastrous birthday party. 

He’s getting better, though. He’s done the coin trick mostly successfully to a few of the younger trick-or-treaters—he’s not so bad with babies, after all—and Pepper’s decidedly fond of him though she’s not so small anymore. 

And more and more children come every Halloween. He’ll get plenty of practice. 

Crowley had been helping two stragglers to the last batch of children, one of whom had gotten her superhero wristlet caught in her brother’s flower crown. Having sent them on their way, he lopes back to the cottage, his own gold eyes and those of his wolf mask glowing in the moonlight. 

“Think that’s the last of them,” he stretches, shaking his head. As if it’s been a  _ chore,  _ as if he’s really only done it to scare the children, and he’s just so sweet Aziraphale can’t help but beam at him.

“My my, Sir Wolf,” Aziraphale says cheerfully. He scratches behind the mask’s ear. “What a big heart you have.”

Crowley groans, but he’s blushing.

“C’mooon, don’t ruin the game, angel!” He snaps his teeth at Aziraphale’s wrist, in a way that would be  _ terribly  _ threatening if he didn’t know quite well how fond Aziraphale is of his mouth there, how they both know Crowley would never, ever hurt him. 

“All right,” Aziraphale sighs. He sips the last of his cocoa and gives an indulgent smile, before widening his eyes. “Oh, goodness me! A big,  _ bad  _ wolf!” He gives a theatrical gasp (no stranger to Crowley’s love of roleplay), and clutches his mug to his chest, drawing his red cloak tighter over him. “I saw you frighten away all those others, and now you’re here for me!” 

“I am,” Crowley growls, baring his teeth in a grin. He prowls close, a semi-circle not unlike how he’d circle Aziraphale earlier in their courtship, snakelike.

Protective.  _ Possessive,  _ but in the most deliciously patient way.

“Don’t you know better,” Crowley murmurs, nuzzling his way into Aziraphale’s hood, “than to be in the woods all alone at night?” He licks his lips, lets his warm breath ghost over Aziraphale’s throat, sending a very real thrill of arousal through the angel. Crowley chuckles, a rough sound, deep in his chest. “Pretty thing like you?”

“My my, what big words you have.” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “Going to make good on those?”

“I’ll show you big,” Crowley growls, and scoops Aziraphale into his arms. Aziraphale makes a sound that’s  _ meant  _ to be mock-terror, but it comes across high enough with wanting he’s quite glad no children are still within earshot. 

“Oh dear, oh  _ no!”  _ he manages, kicking his Mary-Janes out and pounding his fists against Crowley’s back, empty cocoa mug bouncing. “You  _ mustn’t!” _

“I’m gonna,” Crowley threatens, his voice heavy with promise, and at that Aziraphale can’t help but grin. He buries his face in the crook of Crowley’s throat to hide it, shoving the door shut behind them.

Because Crowley wouldn’t, if his husband didn’t want it, not ever. And what’s more, as for big, Aziraphale’s the only one with a cock at all the moment, and he knows very well what Crowley wants when he gets like this. When he gets all blustery and tough, possessive and as close to  _ monstrous  _ as he ever does. 

Crowley throws him onto their bed, grinning wonderfully wolfishly.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale whimpers dutifully, kicking off his shoes and wringing his hands into his hood as Crowley crawls to him on all fours. “If only, if  _ only  _ there was a way to tame this terrible beast!” 

Crowley comes to straddle him, knees aside his hips, hands on either side of him on the pillow.

“You’re shit outta luck, Red,” Crowley shakes his head, nuzzling Aziraphale’s nose with his own, and then he says it. “You’re  _ mine.”  _

“Fuck,” Aziraphale breathes, because he knows his husband loves it.  _ “Yes.” _

And he seizes Crowley in a kiss, flinging his arms around the wolf mask, wrapping his legs around Crowley’s waist, feet bumping up against the tail.

Crowley moans into his mouth. He tugs the red hood down, the white collar, all the better to get his mouth over as much of Aziraphale’s throat as he can manage. Aziraphale lets him, pushing their bodies together, scrabbling his own hands up Crowley’s costume coat to rub the hot smooth planes of him—until Crowley gives a familiar whine, rutting against his husband’s thigh, and Aziraphale grins. He presses one more kiss into Crowley’s hair, sweat cooling on his scalp from tonight’s antics, and rolls them over.

“Hey, now!” Crowley cries out in mock affront.

Aziraphale licks his lips, sitting pretty atop Crowley’s lap. He pulls back his hood at last.

“Don’t underestimate me, Sir Wolf.” He traces a manicured finger along Crowley’s jaw. “The night is young. We’ll see who it is who gets... _ devoured.”  _

“Oh  _ fuck,”  _ Crowley moans, tilting his head back and parting his thighs. Aziraphale snaps away their costumes, including Crowley’s tail, though he leaves his own pants (and the wolf mask for good measure), and lets out a low, appreciative breath. 

Crowley’s dripping. His lips are flushed, the lovely pink pearl of his clit peeking through, his pubic hair—the very same colour as Aziraphale’s hood—clinging damp to him. 

“Angel,” Crowley squirms. His fingers clutch the bedsheets as he tries not to touch himself. He moves as if to rub his thighs tighter, but Aziraphale settles between them, spreading them further apart. 

“None of that,” he says sternly. He runs his hands up Crowley’s hips and brings his nose close to Crowley’s core, inhaling his scent deeply. “It’s my turn for a treat, dear. And it’s my very favorite one.” 

“Oh,” Crowley breathes, “oh, oh— _ ah!” _

Aziraphale touches the tip of his tongue to Crowley’s entrance. He drags it slowly, slowly up to his clit, again and again. Brushes feather-light against one lip of his labia, then the next. Crowley rocks against the bed, seeking more friction, but Aziraphale holds his hips firmly down, teasing, tasting. 

“I said, none of that,” he repeats. His voice is sharper this time, and Crowley’s cunt clenches, slick want spilling from him, in response. “Can’t have you wriggling around while I feast, now, can I?”

“Wha— _ ngk.”  _ Crowley swallows hard, pupils blown, teeth digging hungrily into his bottom lip as Aziraphale’s snap swiftly reappears his costume-wolf tail to wrap around his wrists, pinning them together above his head. “You wicked creature,” Crowley moans, grinning. This bit wasn’t planned, but Crowley loves being held down and taken apart. They have their word, and Crowley is  _ far  _ from using it. He thrashes valiantly against the tail for show, letting his thighs fall open further. “I’ll have my revenge, you mark my words.” 

“Consider them marked,” Aziraphale says primly, and presses the flat of his fat tongue against Crowley’s cunt in one hard, practiced stroke. Crowley whines, and Aziraphale sets about devouring him in earnest. 

He laps at Crowley’s clit, sucks on it as his fingertips tease Crowley’s labia open, pushing too gently at the hot pull of his entrance. He alternates with his tongue, prodding it leisurely inside as his thumb circles Crowley’s clitoral hood. He moans indulgently at Crowley’s familiar taste, breathes deep and licks and licks at the sweat and slick mingling sweet. Crowley opens and opens and  _ opens  _ for him, and Aziraphale teases him until his thighs tremble, until his muscles strain as his fists clench in their restraints. 

“You feel  _ so  _ good,” Crowley pants, his voice cracking. “Your tongue— _ fuck _ —”

Aziraphale smiles against him. Presses a kiss right at his sopping core. 

“All the better to eat you with, my dear.” 

Crowley gives a  _ thoroughly  _ dismayed groan, but then Aziraphale wraps his lips around his clit and it quickly turns to a sharp, high gasp. 

He swirls his tongue around his husband’s little pearl and finally,  _ finally  _ presses his finger inside, and just that one finger, petting into him precisely where Crowley needs it, is enough to make him cry out. Crowley clenches down at once, rocking against Aziraphale’s hand, bucking up into his mouth, and Aziraphale lets him this time, licks him and fucks his finger into him and caresses his hip until he slows at last. 

“Angel,” he says shakily, his skinny chest heaving. He tilts his bound arms up, as if for a cuddle, but Aziraphale sits up, businesslike instead. He clicks his tongue and wipes his mouth on his wrist. 

“Now, now.” Aziraphale reaches into the bedside drawer and Crowley moans, clutching the sheets in anticipation. “Did I say I was done with you, you wily wolf?” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispers in wonder, eyes widening as Aziraphale withdraws the particular toy that Crowley likes best on his clit. He swallows, hard. “Treats it is tonight, then.” 

Oh, Aziraphale  _ loves _ him. He cups Crowley’s chin, tugs him into a kiss. He parts Crowley’s lips with his tongue, caressing, as he soothes his free palm down Crowley’s chest, his hips, his damp inner thighs, until Crowley’s squirming under his touch again. 

“Such a big,  _ bad _ wolf.” Aziraphale adjusts the mask where it’s bunched under Crowley’s sweaty head, lets him settle comfortably against it. Crowley looks at him, eyes wide with want and trust, a stark contrast to the predatory wolf’s sneer above him. Aziraphale grins. He runs the toy over Crowley’s thigh, the dip of his belly, then lower. Hovers it  _ just  _ above Crowley’s quivering cunt, and flicks it on, a low hum filling the bedroom. “Let’s see if I can make you howl.”

He brings the tip down and Crowley cries out immediately, body bowing to the touch. 

“Oh—oh—oh! _ Ffffuck.”  _ Crowley whines. He twitches, his wet cunt spreading, as Aziraphale runs the small, vibrating tip of the toy in little circles over his swollen clit. He presses a hand to Crowley’s chest, holding him down gently, but firmly, as he moves the vibrator to his outer labia, then nudges it just inside his entrance. 

Crowley  _ sobs.  _ His jaw drops, head twisting on the pillow as he bears down on it as best as he can, and when Aziraphale brings the toy back up to his clit, he stills, save for a jumping gasp, and Aziraphale knows he’s close again.

He pulls the toy away. 

Crowley makes a sound like he’s been hit. He moves to rub his thighs together, but Aziraphale holds them apart.

“Hands and knees.” He punctuates it with a light slap on Crowley’s thigh, and a small half-smile. Heavens, he’s hard. “Like the wolf you are.” 

Crowley’s a  _ wreck.  _ His hair’s a mess, his freckled chest and cheeks dappled pink, his pussy slippery and trembling. He moves shakily, and does what he’s told, flashing a blazing, wordless look over his shoulder as he does. Maneuvers on his bound wrists and raises his hips to present himself on all fours, glistening cunt and tight little asshole waiting expectantly.

Aziraphale’s cock twitches in his pants.  _ He’s _ done that. Made Crowley feel safe enough to be vulnerable like this, to be taken apart, to be taken  _ care of.  _ Just as he deserves. His heart is bright with love, and he can’t help but lean over his husband, nudging the mask up to kiss his throat and then a line down his back, rubbing worshipful palms over his beautiful body. 

“That’s it,” Aziraphale soothes, voice low. He gives a few light spanks, nearly pats. Just touching Crowley’s ass, loving its warmth and its presence, before bending to push his tongue deep inside Crowley’s cunt.

Crowley gasps, high and broken. He pushes back instantly, mindlessly, and Aziraphale works his tongue in deeper. He moans into Crowley’s tight, delicious passage, fucking him with his tongue, savouring his slick.

And then he switches the toy back on and presses it to Crowley’s clit, and Crowley does, indeed, howl.

He nearly  _ screams,  _ really, head rolling back, his entire body spasming as he comes, clenching tight. He moves frantically to fuck himself on Aziraphale’s tongue and grind against the toy, but Aziraphale holds him still, works him through it instead, until he’s writhing in steady, hot waves. His cunt brims with his sweet essence and Aziraphale fucks him harder, firming his tongue, holding the toy relentless against him, moving it gently so he doesn’t get sore. Crowley comes again, or perhaps it’s just another crest, but he lets out a string of lovely, babbling nonsense of  _ fuck, fuck, _ how good it feels,  _ too  _ good, and Aziraphale doesn’t stop until he slows. 

“Hmm,” he says at last. He can’t help but give Crowley’s pinkened, soaked cunt one last open mouthed kiss before he pulls away, and Crowley twitches before sinking onto his stomach. Aziraphale crawls up him, lying on top of him, and pecks a kiss to Crowley’s proffered cheek. “You did so well, my dear.”

Crowley tilts to him, turning them on their sides. Half-lidded eyes, cheeks still flushed, he looks extremely debauched and thoroughly satisfied, and Aziraphale feels another rush of pride and love. 

“Made a mess of you,” Crowley exhales. He tangles their limbs together, cuddling close. He rubs his thumb over Aziraphale’s chin, where it’s sticky from his slick. He licks it, almost automatically, and Aziraphale’s neglected cock throbs between them.

“You certainly did, darling,” Aziraphale purrs, licking his own lips and savouring. “Mm. You know I love it.” He pushes the mask back, strokes Crowley’s hair how he likes it. Crowley gives a low, contented moan and tilts up to the touch. Aziraphale leans in close. “Good boy.” 

Crowley groans, shivering, and tries to pull Aziraphale on top of him with his still-bound wrists. Aziraphale blinks.

“Oh—I was just—darling, you must be  _ quite  _ sore, I don’t need—”

“I do.” Crowley kisses him deep and filthy, exhausted and open and loving and wanting. “I can feel you,” he murmurs, wrapping his legs around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling the angel’s clothed erection against his bare, used cunt. He rocks his hips up. “And I want you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes. “Oh, oh, my love.” He wriggles his pants off and Crowley moans at the sight of him at last, thick and hard and  _ his.  _ He frowns at the tail binding his wrists for the first time, and Aziraphale hurries to undo it. Crowley sighs in relief, rolls his wrists once, and then wastes no time. He roughly licks his palm and grabs his husband’s cock, stroking it.

“This is for me?” Crowley asks, his cheeky half-grin tempered by the warm desire in his lamplight eyes.

“Always,” Aziraphale says, “always,  _ always,”  _ and sinks into him.

Oh, it’s so  _ good,  _ it’s always so  _ good.  _ Crowley arches beneath him, welcoming him as deep as he goes. His brow furrows, his sweet bow mouth falling open as Aziraphale bottoms out, as he begins to move. He’s open and clenching and exquisite and so, so beautiful—Aziraphale watches the shifts in his face as he fucks into him, a gentle, needful rhythm. How a muscle in his throat jumps as Aziraphale withdraws, how his nose scrunches as Aziraphale presses in. Crowley digs his heels in the small of Aziraphale’s back, encouraging him to roll his hips good and deep, rubbing him just there inside him. And Crowley’s arms, free at last, go around him, encircling him, holding them skin to slick skin.

“Love you,” Aziraphale says, his voice barely more than a whisper, buried in the crook of Crowley’s as he rocks into him. 

“Fuck,” Crowley manages,  _ “ffffuck.” _

Aziraphale lets them stay like that for a while. He fucks his husband’s pussy tenderly, reveling in every inch of the slide of the tight clench around him, the way Crowley lets him in, wants him inside, the way it makes him gasp, and dig his fingers into Aziraphale’s back.

“You love this holiday,” Aziraphale says softly, his voice hitching as he moves. He cups Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley laves messy kisses there, open-mouthed at the wrist. “You love playing at fairytales, Crowley, to put on the witch, the wolf, the villain.” Crowley’s squeezing around him now, breath coming quick, heels digging harder, and Aziraphale quickens his pace. “And I love that you love it, so long as you know, my love, that there is  _ nothing  _ monstrous about you.” Crowley’s back arches again, his chest heaving.

“Angel,” he moans, his hands scrabbling at Aziraphale’s shoulders now, a ragged edge to his voice.

“You are always,” Aziraphale says firmly, “always, always—ah!—the  _ hero _ —of my story.”

“Angel!” Crowley gasps, head lolling, and Aziraphale presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth before shifting back to reach for the vibrator again. He holds Crowley’s thigh with one hand, still rocking into him, and with the other, clicks it on and nudges it between their bodies, nestling it to Crowley’s clit. 

Aziraphale’s own pleasure approaches hot within him, but he holds back, thrusting into Crowley as he arches his back right off the bed. Crowley is a spectacular, sweaty mess, and he comes hard, noisy and twitching, his body racked with wave after wave of pleasure, and Aziraphale fucks into him until the final crest, when he finally lets himself release deep, deep inside. 

When Aziraphale withdraws at last, it takes a good amount of willpower not to lower his mouth to Crowley’s gorgeously soaked, spread cunt and clean him up until he shakes, but he can tell from how his husband nuzzles into him that they are quite done for the evening, and he’s very satisfied indeed. There’s always tomorrow after all, and the day after, and the day after that. 

Instead, he holds Crowley close for several blurry moments, each caressing the other’s warm skin. Then he moves to finally lift Crowley’s rather wrecked wolf mask to the bedside table, set the toy aside for cleaning. He pets back the hair of a very drowsy demon, and pads to the kitchen to fetch the heating pad. Through the bookshelves and the houseplants, the strange art, the ancient scrolls, the telescopes. Their home, all their own. The jack-o-lanterns and waist-high gumdrops will be gone as the season ends, but not this, never this. Not the true, deathless sort of magic of their home. 

Crowley’s half-asleep when Aziraphale returns with the heating pad and a glass of water, but he sits up with a dozy, warm smile nonetheless. Spreads his thighs so Aziraphale can gently wipe him up, lay a clean washcloth there, the heating pad atop it. Accepts the water and sips dutifully before placing it on a coaster on the bedside table by the toy. 

He knows the steps now, they both do. Certainly he doesn’t actually  _ need  _ the heating pad, or the water for that matter, but it feels good, it’s part of it, another shape of the intimacy between them. They’ll have a bath in the morning too, with the autumn sun coming through the windows, and then Crowley will make pancakes and—undoubtedly—start planning his theme for next year. 

Aziraphale snuggles up to Crowley’s side, laying his head on Crowley’s chest. He won’t go to sleep until Crowley does, to move the heating pad away before it gets too hot, but he sighs contentedly into him nonetheless.

“I would say,” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s hair, “this Halloween was quite a success.” He yawns. “We should dress up as hereditary enemies more often. Keep them closer, and all that.”

“I—!” Aziraphale exclaims, “as if we didn’t spend six  _ thousand  _ years—” but Crowley’s already chuckling at his own joke, holding his angel tighter. Aziraphale gives one last long-suffering sigh and presses a kiss to his husband’s cheek.

“Happy Halloween, my love.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! Happy Halloween <3 
> 
> more ineffable kisses talk over on tumblr at [letmetemptyou](https://letmetemptyou.tumblr.com)


End file.
